


What Happens Inside The Box...

by literaryoblivion



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Frottage, Hand Jobs, Kissing, M/M, Monster of the Week, Sexual Content, Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 14:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2273415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/literaryoblivion/pseuds/literaryoblivion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last place Stiles expected to find himself on a Friday night was trapped inside a tight-fitting, soon-to-be-lacking-in-oxygen box with Derek hiding from yet another supernatural creature out to get them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens Inside The Box...

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off [this fanart](http://torakodragon.tumblr.com/post/50370877984/sti-no-nope-dont-even-say-a-word-and-i) and I started the fic SO long ago and finally got around to finish it for #sterekfest! So enjoy. :D
> 
> Also, this is totally not beta'd, so I'm sorry for mistakes.

The last place Stiles expected to find himself on a Friday night was trapped inside a tight-fitting, soon-to-be-lacking-in-oxygen box with Derek hiding from yet another supernatural creature out to get them. He couldn’t even remember what it was that was chasing them now since there’d been so many lately, of course that could be because his brain wasn’t necessarily getting the oxygen it needed to operate at full speed. Beacon Hills was apparently aptly named since it had some kind of supernatural searchlight that called all the creepy crawlies and various monsters out of the woodwork to come find the place and have a party.

Their current predicament was _not_ his fault though, and he was going to emphasize that point if they ever got out of there. No, they were sardined inside a wooden chest because it had been _Derek’s_ idea to hide rather than run and fight. Something about how Stiles wouldn’t be able to keep up and didn’t have a weapon, which is total bullshit because Stiles has been keeping up pretty well with all the other wolves during training, and yeah, he might have lost his knife while running, but he is smart and resourceful. He could have MacGuyver-ed something together and been _fine_. Stiles likes to think they’re hiding more because Derek has no idea how to fight or kill the monster of the week instead of the excuses he originally gave him (read: blaming Stiles) when he first opened the chest and pulled Stiles in after him.

Now that they are in there though, Stiles isn’t really sure how they’re getting out, and not because of the outside risk of the monster they can still hear wandering nearby. Eventually, the pack will come and kill it or chase it off cause they were about 20 minutes or so behind Stiles and Derek who had gone ahead to track and lure it.

No, the problem is that Stiles is pretty sure they are stuck in that box.

Derek is crunched up beneath him, his leg pinning one of Stiles’s against one side, and Stiles is practically sitting on top of Derek’s stomach/chest, his arm caught under one of Derek’s shoulders. If it weren’t for the fact they were squished in a box, Stiles might not have minded the position, but that added circumstance is making him wish he were anywhere else. He’s given up hope on moving his leg because when he tried, Derek complained a little too loudly, and his arm has definitely been asleep the last five minutes, which, when he finally gets free, is going to hurt like a bitch. Stiles is dreading the pins and needles feelings that will come in full force once he gets circulation back to his arm.

“Dude, there has _got_ to be a better position in here. I’m going to lose my arm the longer we are like this. They’ll have to chop it off once we get out of here. It won’t be worth saving,” Stiles whispers, although it’s not really that quiet.

“At least you don’t have someone _sitting_ on you.”

“ _You_ are the one who pulled me in. This is how I landed, okay? You only have yourself to blame about that.”

Although it’s dark and the only light coming in is through a few small cracks at the front of the box, Stiles can tell Derek is giving him one of his signature glares. It’s great that Stiles knows him so well now that he doesn’t even have to look to know what Derek’s reaction is.

“Derek, please? Can we move on to our sides or something? Anything? Could you just shift a little so I can get my arm free? That’s all I’m asking. Just free range of my arm.”

Derek huffs. “If I move, will you promise to shut up? That thing is still out there. It’s still a threat,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Isn’t that where your super hearing is supposed to come in? Your wolfy-sense tingles when he’s nearby so we know when to keep quiet.”

Signature Glare #2.

“Ugh, fine, yes. Mum’s the word. I won’t say anything.”

“I don’t believe you, but your arm’s not exactly a great pillow. On the count of three, I’ll lift up and you pull your arm out.”

“Okay,” Stiles agrees, but in his head he thinks that as much as he’s glad he won’t have to amputate his arm, he’s not exactly okay with _just_ moving his arm. He thinks that both he and Derek can probably fit better if they are on their sides rather than on top each other, and even if that’s not true, he would rather not continue sitting on Derek. He’s been willing himself to think of other things (the ache from being scrunched up has been helping in that respect) besides how close they’ve been for the last almost half hour because he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t fantasized about Derek beneath him before. And now of all places would not be the best time to continue that train of thought. He really needs to not have his crotch where Derek can feel it against his abs in case he can’t keep his wandering thoughts away from Derek and himself in other compromising positions.

Which is why when Derek starts his hushed countdown, Stiles decides he’s going to move more than just his arm. And when Derek moves and Stiles does this weird twist that results in his thigh pressed up against Derek’s crotch and Derek’s previously free arm pressed along Stiles’s side, he realizes that maybe he should have told Derek his bright idea first.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek growls, “ _why_ did you do that?” Derek’s face is now even closer to Stiles’s now, and Stiles is thinking this position was not better than the previous one because now not only can Derek still feel any possible stirrings of his loins, but now he can feel Derek’s and umm let’s just say Stiles’s thoughts apparently haven’t been the only ones wandering.

Stiles lets out a nervous laugh. “I… umm… thought it might be more comfortable? I uh guess I should have told you my plan.”

Stiles can’t tell if he’s getting an eye roll or a grimacing look, but he thinks it’s probably both. “FYI, this is _not_ more comfortable,” Derek grits out.

“Well I wasn’t thinking this exactly. Maybe if I…” Stiles tries to shift his weight a little in an attempt to not be resting most of his weight on Derek’s arm, but all he does is face plant in Derek’s neck and rub all up on Derek, pressing his thigh even more against Derek’s half-hard on, which forces a low involuntary moan out of the wolf.

“ _Stop moving_ ,” Derek bites out.

Stiles lifts his head up enough so his words aren’t muddled, “Sorry. Although, maybe I’m not. Clearly you enjoyed that.”

Derek is silent, and Stiles curses the fact that he’s now covering the only source of light they had before with his body cause he so badly wants to see the look on Derek’s face right now because he can’t even guess at what it might be.

The way they are laying now is very reminiscent of when Stiles landed on top of Derek when they were both paralyzed, which why is it that it’s always traumatic life-threatening situations that are the cause of Stiles being able to lay on Derek? He’d like for once maybe having it be somewhere comfortable and mutually agreed upon, like in a bed with a few less layers. And stopping that right now...

“Uh, do you want to try again? This time both of us agreeing on where we’re going?” Stiles asks.

“You tell me _exactly_ what you are planning to do first.”

“Duh.”

Signature Glare and/or eye roll.

“Okay, so don’t you think it’d be better on our sides? So if—“ Suddenly Derek’s hand is over Stiles mouth. This is of course doesn’t really stop Stiles, who keeps talking although what he is saying isn’t clear in the slightest.

“ _Stiles, shut up._ I heard something.”

At that, Stiles stops mumbling into Derek’s hand, which he thinks would be a great reason why Derek should now move it, but he doesn’t. It stays firmly planted against Stiles’s mouth, and ugh really? But Stiles doesn’t comment on it because he can now hear something moving around too, and it’s getting louder. It’s definitely the monster, which as Stiles recalls was this huge hairy thing that he had started calling Bob the Bigfoot, but was really a [kapre](http://beastsandmyths.wordpress.com/asia/south-east/philippines/kapre/). It was supposed to be nice, unless it was harmed, which of course how could it not be if it was in Beacon Hills with werewolves and hunters running around? Which was why it was now a threat to them all because some idiot (Stiles thinks it’s Jackson, although he swears up and down that it’s not) provoked it, and so it decided to declare vengeance by tricking everyone with various things before it went in for the kill. They had finally figured out its game and a way to turn the tables, but then Derek had pulled them into a box. So… so much for that.

As the kapre gets closer, the smell of tobacco gets stronger and Stiles is nearly suffocating what with the smell and Derek covering his mouth, which means it must not be that great with Derek’s super wolf snout either. And of course because the universe hates Stiles, the kapre stops right at the box, and they can hear it shuffling in front of it. Stiles’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest, and he can feel an echoing rhythm of Derek’s as well. All thoughts of moving and inconvenient boners are pushed aside, leaving the internal chant of “Please don’t open the box, please don’t open it” in their place. There is no way they would be able to spring out of the box ready for a fight, and Stiles the fragile human is on top, and therefore more likely to be mangled first, possibly from both sides.

But instead of a swinging of a lid and a flood of light blinding them, there’s a loud creak above them and the top of the chest bows in.

Awesome.

Bob is _sitting_ on the box.

There’s no way Stiles can say something or for Derek to communicate with him because they can’t risk Bob hearing them, and it’s totally dark. They both wait, Derek’s hand still over his mouth, hoping that Bob will move, only he doesn’t. Derek finally removes his hand, which thank you, Stiles is very capable of keeping quiet when he needs to, okay? Stiles slumps against him because what else is he going to do? They’re trapped, and he’s tired of trying to hold himself up to keep some space between their bodies. There’s no point, might as well embrace that they both have awkward boners and might possibly die before getting relief. Plus, with the box bowed where Bob is sitting, Stiles doesn’t want to risk bumping his head against the lid.

Derek doesn’t say anything, which okay, Stiles realizes he kind of can’t, but if he didn’t want Stiles laying on top of him, he could have like shoved him or something. Maybe Derek’s embraced their predicament too. In fact he definitely has because Stiles can feel Derek’s arms wrap around his back, and Derek is definitely rubbing his thumb back and forth on Stiles’s back. Stiles tucks his face against Derek’s neck so he can feel the smile on his lips. They really can’t do much more than that, and Stiles tries to breathe as quietly as he can. But with being so close to Derek, he can smell him instead of the smell of tobacco from Bob, and it’s way nicer. He tries to breathe in more, burrow his nose in closer to Derek’s neck, and he ends up rubbing his nose against his neck. Derek fists Stiles’s shirt, and Stiles stills.

He’s not sure if it’s a sign that Derek wants him to stop or that he’s heard something outside the box, and really the only way to know for sure is to do a test. So he rubs his nose against Derek’s neck again and sure enough, Derek fists his shirt again. Okay, so no rubbing his neck. Got it. Must be ticklish or something. They hear the the lid above them creak and then it straightens, the weight of Bob no longer bowing it in. Stiles can hear Bob take a few steps away from the box and groan loudly. He waits for some kind of signal from Derek because he’d still be able to hear Bob once he couldn’t.

After forever, Derek finally whispers, “He’s still out there, but at least he’s not sitting on the box anymore.”

“Yeah, thank goodness. Okay, so maybe if I move--”

“No. We are not moving. We are staying like this until he leaves or someone comes to kill him.”

“Alright, alright, geez.” Fine, if Derek doesn’t want to move, then he’s going to have to put up with having Stiles laying on top of him, thigh in his groin, and nose in his neck. “Are you ticklish?” Stiles finally asks after a few moments.

“What?” It’s amazing how Derek can whisper and still sound angry.

To prove his point, Stiles rubs his nose again, and this time not only does Derek fist his shirt, but he lets out the tiniest whimper.

“Oh,” Stiles lets out on a breath. So… not exactly ticklish because he can definitely still feel all of Derek. And well, they’re trapped in a box with nothing to do, pressed up against each other, with some obvious tenting of pants going on and no sign of it receding…

Stiles lets his lips brush against Derek’s neck this time instead of his nose, and Derek’s whole body stiffens.

“Stiles, what are you--”

“Shhhh, keep an ear out for Bob,” he says before kissing up Derek’s neck and jawline. He shifts to reach Derek’s ear, and in doing so, presses his thigh against Derek’s crotch. Derek moans, his hand moving from Stiles’s back down to his ass.

“ _Stiles_ , we can’t--”

“I’m just taking care of our immediate issue, relax,” Stiles whispers against Derek’s ear, then sucks the lobe of Derek’s ear into his mouth. Derek let’s out a shaky breath, the hand on Stiles’s ass squeezing a little. Stiles kisses his way up Derek’s jaw, his teeth grazing his chin, his tongue sliding over his stubble. He really wants to get to Derek’s mouth, but he can’t see a damn thing so he’s doing his best to feel with his lips and if Derek would just--there it is. Derek tilts his head, turning it slightly to catch Stiles’s wandering lips with his own. It’s not the best kiss and it’s uncoordinated and painful until Stiles pulls back slightly to try again.

This time it’s better, and Derek opens his mouth enough for Stiles’s tongue, and it’s Stiles who moans when their tongues slide together. He hadn’t noticed, too focused on tasting Derek, that Derek’s hips are slightly thrusting up as he tries to not-so-subtly rut against Stiles’s thigh.

“ _Derek_ , I need--I’m gonna--” Stiles says as he tries to push up enough from Derek to get his hand between their bodies. Derek does his best to help, understanding what Stiles is wanting, by holding Stiles’s chest up while Stiles tries to unbutton both their jeans with one hand. It is way more difficult than Stiles imagined.

“Ugh, this… this isn’t working,” Stiles whines, probably louder than he should have.

“Here, let me,” Derek says, snaking his own hand between them, and that is definitely ripping Stiles is hearing not unzipping.

“Dude, did you just rip my pants?”

“You wanted them off, that was the fastest, easiest way.”

Stiles groans, “You owe me new pants, wolfman.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me why--mmmhhh,” Stiles says before Derek pulls him back down for a kiss. It’s hard and biting, and kind of perfect. With Stiles’s pants undone, well more like in shreds, Derek’s hand, which is still between them, finds it’s way to Stiles’s cock, hard and leaking in his underwear. Derek palms it, not moving his hand much, rather letting Stiles move and rut against his fingers. There’s not much room between them or in the box to do much else.

Stiles can’t help the little moans that escape as Derek tightens his grip around his cock.

“Underwear, can you?” Stiles gasps, and Derek yanks down Stiles’s underwear with his other hand so that now there is nothing between Stiles’s cock and Derek’s hand. Stiles’s thrusts are increasingly frantic, and he takes a second to realize that Derek is still in his jeans, and his cock is rock hard and not getting any attention.

“Derek, what about you? Your pants--” Stiles lets out between breaths. It’s kind of difficult to breathe in this box with the physical exertion making it more so.

Derek grunts and then his hand is no longer wrapped around Stiles’s dick. Stiles bites his lip to keep the whimper at the loss in because he knows that he is being far too loud already. He hears more ripping and lets out a giggle.

“What?” Derek says as he shifts. Stiles can feel Derek push his underwear down enough to expose his own cock, and god, does Stiles wish they weren’t in a box because he really wants to see what Derek’s dick looks like. As it is, he can sort of feel it against his hip when Derek moves him. There’s not enough room in the box to align them properly, so Stiles suffers, thinking to himself that they are so doing this later with more lighting and breathing room.

“You ripped your pants too? What are we going to do when we have to get out of the box?”

“We’ll worry about it later,” Derek huffs out.

Before Stiles can comment, Derek’s hand is back on his cock, and this time it’s a little wet, and it feels so much better. Either Derek licked it, or it’s from his own precome, but Stiles doesn’t really care either way. Stiles has been holding his weight with both hands on Derek’s shoulders, but he thinks he could probably lean to the side so that he could help Derek get off too. He does, moving so that he can get a hand around Derek, and the sound Derek makes when he does is amazing.

“Shhhhh,” Stiles says, teasing, and Derek nips at his bottom lip in retaliation.

They both do their best to keep their pleased sighs and sounds quiet, moaning more into each other’s mouths to keep from attracting attention. Stiles comes first, and Derek continues to stroke him through it until Stiles makes a noise to get him to stop. He tries his best to keep stroking Derek, but he’s kind of out of it after his orgasm. So, Derek’s own hand wraps around his on Derek’s cock, and together they both stroke Derek to completion.

They lay there for a while, their breaths starting to even out. Stiles doesn’t even want to think about the mess between them and how much longer they might have to stay like that, all sticky and wet with come and sweat. Speaking of… it’s been kind of quiet, and even though Derek was supposed to be listening to make sure they weren’t in danger, he’s not sure Derek could really focus on anything other than what was happening between them.

“Hey,” Stiles whispers, “is it just me, or does it seem awfully quiet?”

“I… I don’t hear anything, actually.”

“Meaning, we’re not in danger? When did Bob leave?”

“I… don’t know. I was kind of distracted!”

“Derek!”

“Stiles!”

“Can you hear anything at all?”

“No, I… wait…” Derek pauses, “Yes… I can hear… shit. Someone’s coming.”

“Who? A bad someone or--”

Suddenly the lid of the box is being thrown open and the tiny space is flooded with light. Stiles can’t really see who it is, but he’d recognize the disgusted groan anywhere.

“Heeeeeyyy, Scott,” Stiles says, lifting his head to squint up at the man standing above him and Derek.

“Eww, really, guys? Your life is in mortal danger, and you hide in a box and have sex?!” Scott shouts, his nose wrinkled because he can definitely smell what happened between he and Derek.

“Hey now,” Stiles says. “What happens in the box, stays in the box.” He looks back down at Derek with a grin for confirmation, and Derek rolls his eyes. He has the decency to look ashamed, but Stiles doesn’t care at all.

“I’m leaving,” Scott says. “We took care of Bob. I’ll tell everyone else we found you and you’re okay. I won’t force them to witness what I just did.

“Oh, shove off, Scotty. Love is a beautiful thing!” Stiles shouts after him, but Scott’s back is to them both and he’s already walking away.

“Love?” Derek says, sitting up so he’s not cramped and hunched over in the box.

Stiles bites his lip and squints. “I mean… I don’t know. Maybe? Sometime in the future? It’s clearly to early to tell right now, but we could maybe…”

Derek pulls him into a kiss, effectively cutting off Stiles’s rambling.

“Maybe is good,” Derek says when he’s broken the kiss.

“Yeah?” The happy hopefulness in Stiles’s voice is apparent.

“Come on, I need to stretch and take a shower.”

Stiles nods, pushing himself up using the sides of the box to stand. His legs are tingling and his pants are falling off and disgusting (all Derek’s fault), but when Derek stands next to him, he’s in much the same predicament.

“I vote next time we don’t wear pants so we can avoid this,” Stiles says gesturing to the shreds of fabric that were their jeans.

“I don’t think that’ll be an issue because you’re showering with me,” Derek says, a sly grin on his face as he steps out of the box and starts walking in the direction of where they had parked the car.

“Oh I am, am I? Well that’s a big assumption, there big guy… I don’t--” Stiles stops because who is he kidding? He’s totally getting in that shower with Derek. “Derek, wait up!” Stiles calls, scrambling out of the box and almost skipping to where Derek is because he’s having a hard time keeping up his pants. Derek laughs as Stiles stumbles to his side, and Stiles punches him in the shoulder and tells him to “shut up.” Derek shakes his head, gives Stiles a peck on the lips, and then picks him up in a bridal carry and carries him to the car.

At least he doesn’t have to worry about tripping on his pants on the way there.

By the time they get back to Derek’s loft to take that shower, the entire pack knows what happened in the box. So much for that staying inside the box.

What happens in the shower and then in Derek’s bed afterwards, however? Definitely stays there.

Well… for at least twenty four hours until Stiles spills the beans because hello, how can he keep the fact he and Derek Hale had sex multiple times and are kind of sort of dating a secret? Impossible.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr](http://literaryoblivion.tumblr.com) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/lit_oblivion).


End file.
